Dynamic
by Phiso
Summary: -4. Mail- It was nearing Christmas, and there still wasn’t any mail for Peter.
1. Buzz

Hello, everyone! Welcome to what I hope is the improved Dynamic. Seeing as I am a huge stickler for canon (huge, but not rabid; I am but a moderate constitutionalist), I could not bear to be working on something I could see was wrought with mistakes. So, I've fixed it! As well as smoothed out the formatting.

Whatever is "true" in this story is only true in **this** story, meaning the chapters mesh together into one, non-chronological narrative but don't apply in any other works I may write. Let's see how this turns out.

If you are new to this collection of vignettes, hurrah! I hope you enjoy it. If you have read this before and see good things, pray tell; if you have read this before and miss some of the old content, tell me and I can always upload it somewhere.

Now, without further ado…

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1.

Word: Buzz

Character: Sirius Black

When: September 1971

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The world suddenly seemed a thousand times bigger as Sirius made his way over to his seat, the Hall quieter than usual and a strange, roaring buzz filling his ears as the school watched the renegade Black sit someplace other than the Slytherin table. Maybe the world wasn't bigger, he thought blankly as he swung his legs over the bench. Maybe he was just smaller. Whatever had happened between the moment the professor had put the old hat on his head and the moment it had come off, it had changed everything; he was no longer in a world he could honestly say he recognized. The entirety of the Great Hall was demanding his attention all at once: the dark lines streaking through the wood, the gleam of the candles on the golden plates – had they always been gold? For some reason he had been expecting them to be silver – the inky black of the Hogwarts robes contrasting against the surprisingly warm hues highlighted in the stone. And it was painfully obvious to Sirius the way no one was really looking at him, how even though he was at the Gryffindor table with a bunch of other students, he was sitting by himself.

Sirius swallowed hard as he looked up, trying his best to look casual as the Sorting continued. The eyes of the Slytherin table were glaring at him, burning holes into his back, and he answered by putting on an expression of defiant nonchalance, a practiced look he had learned from his family in the halls of Grimmauld Place and altered to suit him better. He would not give weight to their derisive stares right now; he would not dignify them with his attention. He was a Black, albeit one in Gryffindor – _Gryffindor!_ – and he was not going to let anyone ruin his first night here.

Making room for the redheaded Lily Evans, Sirius gave her what he hoped was a winning grin; it was abruptly replaced with a scowl as she turned her back firmly against him, leaving the boy to watch the others being sorted without room for commentary. It occurred to Sirius that James Potter had said he had wanted to be a Gryffindor, like his father before him; he hoped that the boy's wish came true. He and James had hit it off on the train, right? For the most part, anyway. Which would mean that Sirius would have a friend in Gryffindor, in his dorm – as soon as the image of the two of them rooming together appeared in his mind he began to silently beg for it to come true. He would be able to handle anything thrown at him – and things would be thrown at him – so long as he had someone to face it with.

As it turned out James was indeed classified as a Gryffindor, along with some others, among them a boy named Remus Lupin who looked rather peaky and a pudgy boy named Peter Pettigrew. Neither of them looked particularly interesting straight off the bat, but Sirius decided that if they were going to be rooming together for the next seven years they might as well start getting along. Some good conversation might also distract him from the sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach that made everything that had just magically appeared on the dishes before him look a lot less appealing than it normally would.

"So!" he said with more enthusiasm than was necessary as he took a roll. "We've got Potter, Lupin, Pettigrew, and Evans, right?" They each nodded their heads, looking a little bemused, though Pettigrew looked rather delighted to be remembered. He tossed the bread from hand to hand, trying to do something about his energy; he didn't think it'd be a good idea to shout at the entire Slytherin table to stop staring at him, especially since that'd only draw even more attention to him. The buzzing in his ears grew, and he pressed on. "Looking forward to our first class?"

The others, however, weren't quite as eager to converse as Sirius would have liked, Peter being the only one interested in talking; by the end of dinner Sirius had resulted in feeling worse, not better. His heart sank as he noticed James giving him curious looks the entire time, glancing between him and the Slytherin table, who were now openly shooting Sirius looks of loathing. Sirius already knew that James didn't really like Slytherin, and as pureblood as himself, Sirius was sure the bespectacled boy would recognize the Black name as easily as any other; he himself had told James that his entire family had been in Slythern. Still, he obviously wasn't like them – he was in Gryffindor, after all! Why was he being so weird about it?

The night in their dorm had been awkward, but Sirius supposed it could have been worse. He had chosen the bed next to James's, and James didn't seem to be bothered by it, so that was heartening. Lupin changed in the bathroom – that was weird – and Peter tried to keep Sirius and James's focus on him by telling really bad jokes. Sirius's first instinct was to tell him to shut up, but seeing as he had enough enemies at this school as it were, he figured it wasn't a good idea to make another one in his own dormitory. Sirius tried to lull James into conversation, but James finally brushed him off with an, "I'm tired, and we have class tomorrow" and Sirius gave up. He spent the rest of the night trying to fall asleep and failing, too nervous about what the next day would bring to calm down.

Over the next few days James was still a little cool with Sirius, though as time went on he began to open up again after Sirius made a few snide remarks in the halls between classes about Snape's apparent inability to use shampoo; he still kept his distance, however, and Sirius could help but feel betrayed by the boy. Peter, predictably, continued to mop up all the attention he could get, hovering around him like a persistent fly. Evans was still pointedly ignoring him, preferring to spend her time with that greasy-haired Snape, but Sirius felt that was a small loss; not like he had liked her much to begin with. Lupin kept to himself, always looking mildly curious but never joining in, even when invited, and so eventually everyone stopped trying. In the end, Sirius felt a little invisible in his dorm and common room, the only reassuring indication of his presence coming from Peter's rapt interest in him, something that could grow annoying at times but he accepted gratefully nonetheless.

His family's House, on the other hand, was doing its hardest to make sure Sirius didn't forget his twisted existence. They had gathered the entire Slytherin population against him, something he was sure didn't go unnoticed, and launched quite an offensive at him. Lucius Malfoy and his little gang simply adored hissing comments in the halls as they passed him, hexing him whenever his back was turned and laughing cruelly when he failed to protect himself adequately. Narcissa covered the social front, spreading every rumor she could possibly think of, many of them wildly improbable but feeding the school's need for a scandal early on in the year. For an eleven year old who had been looking forward to school it was a nasty surprise, one accompanied with quite a few bloody lips and unpleasant stares. The House colours he was forced to wear didn't help matters; any other house, even Hufflepuff, might have been acceptable, but Gryffindor was unforgiveable, and he was reminded of it every day he had to put on his uniform. He might was well have told his mother to sod off in front of all of his relatives, for all love he was getting for it.

It lasted for days. As time passed and the treatment did not cease, he stopped looking to the professors for help; any sense of trust he held in them evaporated the moment they failed to help him or to punish any of the wrongdoers under the pretense that there was no proof. Instead of instilling a sense of sympathetic pity for anyone who had been teased for something he couldn't help, Sirius formed a sense of deep, strong hatred towards the Slytherins and their habit of rallying behind a strong character rather than forming their own opinions. And above all, there was a burning fury inside of his chest threatening to explode, furious with himself for allowing him to be subjected to this ridicule and to allow it to get to him so badly. He desired nothing more than to strike back, to fight and show them he wasn't in Gryffindor for nothing, but he was caught. The Howler he had received on his third day from his mother still echoed in his mind, accusing him of being a traitor; his older Housemates would help him whenever they were around, but more often than not he was attacked when alone or surrounded by other woefully useless first years, forced to arrive late to class with a large purple eye or boils in uncomfortable places or dripping wet for no apparent reason. A part of him wanted to simply drop out or to implore Dumbledore to allow him to switch houses, but another part of him, the part of him that was regrettably Gryffindor, insisted upon sticking it out.

And then, suddenly, everything changed again.

It was on the way to Transfiguration. Peter was going on about the differences between scrambled eggs and fried eggs, and Sirius and James were pointedly ignoring him, Sirius unwrapping a chocolate frog to tide him over until lunch and James skimming over the reading he had forgotten to do for class the night before. Suddenly, just as he bit into the frog's neck, he heard a loud, "WATCH OUT!" and he instinctively ducked, his hair ruffling as a hex barely missed him from overhead.

Spitting the frog out his mouth, Sirius whipped out his own wand, turning and shouting out the first jinx he could think of; unfortunately he missed his mark, and a second later he felt his wand arm go numb after a bright orange jet of light hit it.

"Bugger," he snarled, looking down at his now useless appendage and wishing he had faster reflexes. Now what was he supposed to do?

The buzzing in the halls grew louder as people stopped to watch, whispering to each other, and Sirius grit his teeth to keep from yelling. Why weren't any of them helping him? Half of them probably knew how to get rid of the hex; why were they all just watching? Why were they all so damn useless? If anyone deserved to be hexed, it was _them_ for just taking up space instead of actually being helpful.

"What are you looking at?"

Sirius looked up to see James glaring at the tallest of the three Slytherins, his wand pointing straight at who James obviously assumed was the leader. He looked absolutely livid, and Sirius's eyes widened. What was going on?

"You stop hexing my friend right now," James said fiercely, "or I'll make sure you regret it."

"Oh yea?" laughed the shortest one. "What'll you do, eh firstie? Levitate a feather at us?"

"James, what are you doing?" Sirius hissed. "These are sixth years, they - "

"I'm tired of watching," James said simply, his eyes never leaving his opponents' faces. "Even _you _need backup sometimes, Black."

"But - "

"Come on," drawled the tallest, drawing his wand again. "Let's get this over wi -"

"_Wingardium leviosa!"_

There was a cry of surprise as a Ravenclaw third year found her book stolen away from her by James; before anyone realized what was going on, the textbook was beating the three Slytherins severely about the head, smashing their noses in particular as hard as it could. Sirius watched on, gaping, as the trio was effectively kept from saying any countercurses; he was so engrossed by the sight he didn't even notice it at first when James started tugging at his good arm.

"Are you daft? Come on, let's get out of here, before they get their brains back," James hissed, pulling so hard now that Sirius felt his shoulder pop a little. "Unless you want _this _arm to - "

"All right, all right, I'm coming," Sirius huffed, looking back one last time and relishing the sight of the three older Slytherins being pelted by – what was that, _two _textbooks?

"How'd you manage two?" Sirius panted as they jogged, Peter left behind in the crowd.

"Two?" James shot him a funny look as they skid around a corner. "I only did one."

"There were two when we left," explained Sirius, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Oh, crap - "

"I dunno," gasped James, catching Sirius's to keep him from falling. "Like I said – where in the bloody hell is the Hospital Wing?!"

"This way." Sirius pushed up ahead of James and led him there, already well acquainted with the route.

"Hey!" Sirius nearly fell over as James caught him by the arm again, pulling him into a standstill, and he turned, his expression confused and a bit exasperated.

"What's with you and trying to rip my arm off?" Sirius demanded.

"Sorry," James apologized, his face a bit flushed, before looking down at the floor and shaking his hands through hair. "No, no, not just for the arm, for - "

Suddenly Sirius understood what James was trying to do, and abruptly cut him off. "I don't want to hear it," he said sternly, and he meant it. The kid looked pathetic enough trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say without actually having to say it. "Now come on, now I can't feel both of my arms, and I don't think McGoogles is going to be too pleased with both of us being late."

James raised his head, more than a bit dazed. "But - "

Sirius raised his good hand to shut him up, and it worked. "I said I don't want to hear it," Sirius repeated, the corners of his lips twitching up. "You look like a right twat just standing there awkwardly like that; I don't want to add to your embarrassment. Besides," he added, looking away and lowering his hand, "I owe you one."

"No, you don't," James responded bluntly. "I was the one who - "

"Okay, we need to stop before we look even more like tossers," Sirius mumbled. James nodded sheepishly, and they stood there awkwardly for a minute before James said hesitantly, "Um, so, that Hospital Wing…"

"Right. This way."

And from then on the school would continue to buzz about one Sirius Black, but not quite for the same reason.


	2. Debate

I want to make it clear now that the characters chosen for the "search" are the ones the newest chapter is about. So that's always going to be changing.

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2.

Word: Debate

Character: James Potter

When: February 1977

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James wasn't sure of what he was supposed to think of all this. In reality, the answer was quite simple, or at least it was from an objective point of view. The decision was practically made for him.

Then why on earth did he insist on debating it?

In one corner was the girl of his dreams, the beautiful, insatiable, vivacious Lily Evans; in the other, a girl of admittedly lesser consequence – still pretty, still nice and kind of funny – but who possessed something Lily did not.

For you see, James may be head over heels for Lily, but this other girl, she was head over heels for James.

It hadn't occurred to him that maybe that might happen; that, in his quest to woo his fiery siren, he might accidentally court the attention of another. It was unexpected and sort of unwelcome, though he had enough of a conscious to feel bad about that; he didn't _want_ this girl's attention, no matter how pleasant she was. He wanted Lily's, and no one else's.

He didn't even understand it himself. Why did he keep torturing himself with the chase, a chase that not even his best friends thought he would ever close in on? Lily _didn't like him_. It was clear in the way she looked at him as if he was something stuck on the bottom of her shoe, in the way she said his surname as if it was an epithet, in the way that she would never, _ever_ inquire about anything – even if he walked into the classroom with one of the giant squid's suckers on his face, which had happened once, actually. She had absolutely no interest in him – in fact, some would say she might even loathe James – and yet, James couldn't quite let go, no matter how much he was starting to think he should.

She was glorious, Miss Evans; it was enough to make the Gods sigh. She was more than a conventional beauty, more than just a pretty face; no one could deny that every day she would uncurl another pedal, show another side of her that was even more coveted than the last. She was strong, independent, driven, and didn't take any crap from anyone. (Oh, James knew that fact well.) Lily didn't lie unless it was necessary, never cheated or stole anything, and had a sense of justice so strong that James could easily see her being Head Girl. She inspired him every day he saw her.

She also tore him down and made him feel like absolute shit every day he saw her, too, which is why he was having this particular debate in the first place.

The other girl was sweet, a little plain but not ugly, with a sincere heart and shy smile. She was cute, and James could see that she wasn't without her suitors, though granted they weren't exactly the highest selection Hogwarts offered. They had a few things in common, and she was easy to talk to in class whenever Sirius was off being stupid or Remus was sick or Peter was taking up everyone's attention by blowing something up. She was a nice match, and would suit him well.

But she wasn't Lily.

She didn't make James want to become a better person, though she did make James feel like he was a prince among peasants at times. She wasn't the one he wanted to turn to in times of need, though he knew she would listen. She also didn't make his heart jump, his head feel dizzy, his palms sweat whenever he saw her. He would be glad to see her if he saw her, but nothing more than that.

She wasn't Lily.

But she did like him.

She didn't make a face and turn her head every time he opened his mouth. She did always encourage him to do his best, even if she didn't stretch his limits the way Lily tended to do.

And she didn't make him feel like shit. That point was very important.

Oh, the heart of a young boy, so easy to fall in love, so easy to swoon! How was _he _supposed to choose? His Goddess, or his worshipper? It was enough to make Shakespeare's heart break, he was sure.

Well, granted, James still had quite some time to learn how to woo Lily – if he wasn't lucky enough to just get over her first. And in the meantime, was he really expected to just wait around for her to notice how awesome he was? That was just masochistic. (Never mind that liking Lily at all was a rather masochistic cause.)

Yet…even though his arm was around this girl's waist, even though she blushed whenever he smiled and followed him around like a puppy, something was still wrong.

She didn't make him fight.

She didn't make him stumble over his words (or his feet).

She didn't make his heart stop.

And so, the debate continued.


	3. Blood

This was originally for an RP, but I liked it too much to not include it here. Names that are unknown now will be explained later.

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3.

Word: Blood

Character: Remus Lupin

When: November 1980

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It was another one of those nights.

Remus wasn't sure how long he had been there before he dozed off, his body pleading for rest; one moment he was staring mindlessly at the wall of the cold cave, and the next he was running through the dark woods, his lungs burning as he tore through the foliage. He wasn't sure why he was running or what he was running from; all he was sure of was that he was afraid, very afraid, and that he didn't intend on stopping. He gasped for air as he went, sure that whoever was chasing him could hear his frantic, heaving panting and the strong, frightened thumping of his heart echoing in his ears. Branches scratched at his face, his arms, his legs; he felt the sting of cuts moments before a drop of something warm would trickle down his body, and he stumbled more than once after slamming the front of his foot into a rock. There was a terrible thrill filling him, marking him as prey and propelling his legs forward, his muscles feeling as though they were on fire as they desperately tried to stay upright, knowing that if they failed they would not get a second chance. Whenever he thought that maybe, just maybe he had gotten away from whatever was chasing him and he dared to slow his pace, he heard a low snarl and the rustle of leaves from behind him and above him, and he was off again.

All of a sudden, he burst into a clearing, wide and expansive and illuminated by the full moon's light. The carpet of grass beneath him was short and hard, thin and drying; the cold of the night air, hidden by the warmth pulsing in the dangerous woods behind him, now hit him at full force, slitting long gashes into his throat as he continued, speeding up now that there was less obstructing his way. He pumped his arms as he went, hoping that the motion wasn't as useless at it seemed and would somehow make him go faster, maybe even fly. And then there was another ferocious growl, a terrible howl erupting from the woods behind him, and Remus wished he _could_ fly. His heart skipped multiple beats before remembering its job, and a sharp pain filled his chest as the weakening organ struggled to catch up with his body's demands; his head swam in fatigue and oxygen deprivation as he pushed himself, harder, harder, trying to fill his veins with more and more adrenaline, until his foot slipped and suddenly he was in the air.

He landed hard, sliding in the dirt multiple feet and littering his left side with cuts and bruises. He tried to stand up, terrified of being still, of being caught, but he couldn't manage to start himself up again; it was as though his body had given up on him, resigned itself to the end, even though he himself was not willing to do that. There was another howl behind him, others joining in the horrible chorus this time, and his legs shook before his knees buckled and dropped him again, rocks cutting into his palms as he landed. His entire being trembled, his throat tight and eyes wide with fear, as he tried to force himself up, to keep going, but it just wasn't happening; the sound behind him only grew stronger, speaking of anticipation, of its eagerness to taste human flesh again.

And then suddenly, unexpectedly, he heard a different sound, one that made his blood run cold; it was a scream, terrible and petrified, a high wail that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It begged for pity, for release, for death; its jagged cut sliced into the night air, pathetic and submissive, an animal just brought down by the pack. It was a voice he recognized only too well, and before he realized it he was running towards it, towards a looming wall of trees where he knew only death could be found.

He didn't get there until it was too late, but what he saw was enough to make him want to wretch: it was a pack of men, greedily devouring what appeared to be the corpse of a man - except that it wasn't a corpse, he was alive, only his pale hand visible to Remus, shining in the darkness between the feet of the hungry wolves. It twitched, the fingers tight and strained, and Remus could hear the gurgling groans of that familiar voice from the middle of the circle, pleading for mercy and the end. The smell of hot blood spilt on dead grass filled his nostrils, and his chest heaved as the sound of the man's whimpers and the nauseating sound of wet chewing continued to be the only things heard through the still night. Remus wanted to say something, to force them to go away, but he couldn't; he simply stood there, transfixed, as he watched, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrifying sight.

Finally, the largest of the men stood up properly, his face appallingly familiar to Remus. Greyback gave him a smile of sharp yellowing teeth, his dilated pupils shining, and slowly but surely the others around him straightened as well. Marrok, Cailean, Dr. Masen - they were all there, blood dripping from their chins like paint and shining a vivid red in the night as their eyes glittered mockingly at him. There was one more, however, still feeding; he looked to be the hungriest of them all, painfully thin and obviously trying to consume as much as he could. Remus felt his heart beating fast, painfully fast, as he allowed his gaze to fall onto the victim's face, already knowing who it was, and sure enough, there he was, his matted and tangled dark hair glistening in the moonlight, his beautiful grey eyes wide with pain and betrayal. He was still breathing, the poor man; Remus could see the gentle rise and fall of his sternum above the gaping hole in his abdomen, and he felt a scream of his own building up inside of his chest, gathering like water at a weak dam fit to burst.

And then the last man stood, slowly and carefully, as though he had just finished some sort of religious ritual. He looked familiar, too familiar, but even once he was facing Remus it took the werewolf a moment to recognize the other. It was himself, his face covered in Sirius's pure blood, his tongue lapping up the remains on his lips as though he couldn't get enough of it. A piece of something was glistening sickeningly in his copy's hand, something that most certainly should have been inside of Sirius, tucked safely away in the warmth of his body instead of exposed to the cold night air. He watched as he smiled at himself, his reflection's angry face twisted, his red mouth hungry, his too-bright eyes animal, and Remus's stomach couldn't take it anymore.


	4. Mail

4.

Word: Mail

Character: Peter Pettigrew

When: December 1971

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It was nearing Christmas, and there still wasn't any mail for Peter. Remus had gotten a letter from his parents, James a new sweater, and Sirius an unexpected card from his younger brother Regulus, but for Peter there was nothing, not even a note from his mother.

The absence of mail made him squirm in his seat, and he could feel the looks the others were giving him when they thought he didn't notice – apologetic, exasperated, worried – and he hated it and he hated them and he hated his mother and he was sorry for even thinking such thoughts when all they all wanted was what they thought was best for him.

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People generally love getting mail, and the Marauders were no different, Peter in particular. The feeling of an owl dropping off a letter was unlike any other – it was a sign that someone somewhere felt you were important enough to go through the trouble of writing something down, sticking it in an envelope, and tying it to a bird. (He later learned from Remus that Muggles used stamps they paid for, which indicated to Peter than Muggles might feel even better about receiving mail because it involved money and was delivered by a person and not a bird that may or may not poop on something.) He loved getting mail, and his mother knew about it, and so sent him letters often. Perhaps too often.

James, Peter noticed, got about two letters a month, maybe three if something interesting had happened at home, and they were of a modest length. James would reply back as soon as he could, and nothing much was thought of it. Remus got a letter a week, each about three or four pages long, a length Peter attributed to Mrs. Lupin's illness and a format he guessed came from living among Muggles. Remus replied promptly and thoughtfully, his letters several inches long at first but slowly growing shorter as his workload grew. It didn't seem as though his parents cared much, though, and they continued to send him thick envelopes every seven days or so. Sirius didn't get any mail at all after his first week, and most of the time he didn't care. Or at least he tried to pretend he didn't.

Peter, on the other hand, was written to every other day – every day, for the first month – and the letters varied in length from 15 inches of parchment to three lines, from lengthy prose to a reminder that his Aunt Cathy's birthday was coming up and he needed to send her something before she called him fat and lazy again. He was obligated to reply every time, because once when he missed one he got a Howler the next morning accusing him of hating his mother. That one made Sirius laugh all day, as he thought it hilarious that Peter's mother was so attached to her pudgy little boy, but it made Peter squirm with guilt and he vowed to write as much as he could every day.

The problem with writing someone every day, he noticed quickly, was that schoolwork sometimes had to be set aside. Immensely grateful that parents weren't sent marks until the end of the term, he lied copiously about his grades on parchment while silently panicking over how he planned to finish his workload. Remus once suggested that Peter wait a few days and answer multiple letters in one response, but the memory of the Howler was still fresh in his mind and he didn't want to risk another embarrassment.

Finally, he took Remus's advice and waited a week to respond, the letters coming in with increasing irritation as his mother waited for any sort of response. As a form of reconciliation he wrote her an exceptionally long letter, but she quickly snapped back saying she preferred daily short notes to weekly long ones.

But it wasn't until Sirius finally took matters in his own hands that things really took a turn for the worse. As Peter wrote a quickly reply on a spare piece of parchment, Sirius snatched it out of his hands and scribbled on the note, reading it aloud as he wrote.

"Stop writing Peter, he's busy and you're annoying him," Sirius recited, signing it with a flourish and tying it to the owl now munching on Peter's cereal. Peter watched him, mouth agape with horror, and as soon as he remembered how to move he frantically tried to untie the note, but the bird was already lifting off and all he could do was watch as his home life flew away with him. Sirius brushed off Peter's terror with a shrug and a piece of toast, and for the first time in his life Peter wanted to stick a fork in Sirius's eye.

There was only one note the next day – "You're coming home for Christmas." – and that was all for the remainder of the calendar year. And now Peter wasn't sure which was worse, getting what he asked for or keeping the annoyance he had had before.


End file.
